The Bozeman weekly chronicle., 1887-04-06
TIIANKFUL'S VIGILS.

TlIANKFUIS VlGILS.
When tho irrcpressible American bored
down a thousand feet into the heart Of
Pennsylvania and extracted fabulous
quantities of oil, and when the ladies be-
came content with steel strips for corsets
instead of whalebone, then one of the
greatest and most adventurous OF the in
dustries of New England received its
death blow
Our story relates to the time when there
was hustle and business in an ancient and
historic seaport, where now may be seen
rotting wharves and tumble down ware
houses; when dozen seagoing vessels
were in the harbor where one is now seen;
when the stanch whaleships went out on
their long voyages and came back laden
with the wealth that made the prosperity
Of the port; when sailors and sailors fam
lilies made up a large share of the popu-
lation, and the old town really seemed to
belong less to the land than to the sea.
All this has changed, and the incidents
we relate could hardly occur there now.
But human lives and human hopes and
fears, happiness and misery are much the
same everywhere.
Well back from the harbor, the wharves
and the busy part of the town, in that
outskirt of it that was built on the rising
ground that overlooked the town, bay and
ocean, Capt Benson had his cottage. He
was at home very little of the time, but
when he was he loved place like this,
commanding q wide view Of the ocean
rim, where he could sit at the window by
the hour and with his good glass discover
the first indication Of sails approaching
the coast He was veteran whaler and
had for fully fifty years pursued the busi-
ness on oil seas. For the last two years
he had commanded the whale ship Cheva-
lier. On his last voyage out he had said
to his wife: "It'n be the last, Nancy.
Let me go once more to the south Pacific
and fill the old ship with oil, and then I'll
stay here and pass the rest of my days
my mate, will be the master; he's a fine
fellow, Thankful. must bring him here
to see you."
Then the old captain looked from his
wife to his daughter, and added the droll
remark: "For my part, I'm beginning to
think it's time / was better acquainted
with you two"
He went to sea again; but he never re-
turned A year later the eyes Of the wife
and daughter were gladdened by the
sight of the Chevalier sailing into the bay.
But instead of him they eagerly watched
for, the mate came up slowly and sorrow
fully to tell them that the captain had
died Of fever in Callao, and was buried
there.
John Sturdy was now captain and was
busy enough overhauling the ship, pick
ing his crew and making all ready for his
first voyage in command of the ship. But
1t was noticed that after everything had
been done for the wife and daughter which
the dying captain had requested, after
their grief had somewhat subsided, Capt.
Sturdy still climbed the hill to the cot
tage at least three times week.
Presently the gossips Of the neighbor-
hood began to hint that Thankful Benson
could tell why he came SO often; and not
more than three months had passed since
he first came, when Mrs. Benson silenced
them all with the plain statement:
'There needn't be any mystery about
1t; Thankful and Capt. Sturdy are en-
gagged, and will be married as soon as q
proper respect for the memory Of her fa-
ther will allow. It'n probably be at the
end Of the Chevalier's next voyage"
John Sturdy was an experienced sea
man of 35--fifteen years older than
Thankful-to whom his ship had been
his world, and to whom ideas Of love and
marriage had appeared idle myths. He
met Thankful Benson for the first time,
when she tainted in his arms upon his
distressing errand to the cottage. She
had grown upon his fancy with every visit
and his heart was quickly offered. With
her 1t was q case Of first love; he was all
that her girlish imagination required
And when he took the girl b the hand
and asked the widow for her consent, she
smiled and sighed all at once
20 it's well enough, Thankful" she
said, iii you must marry sailor but l
was in hopes you wouldn't let your affec.
tions go seafaring."
"1t's the way Of our family, you know,
mother" and the daughter smiled and
looked up to her sailor trustfully.
Indeed II is, and sorry and heart
breaking way it has been for the women.
Not only in our family, but In all the sea-
mems families is it true. For thirty years
I've known this port, and of all its sailors
that have died in that time not one out Of
four has died in his bed. But the Lord
wills 1t, and you may be happy"
"When l knew was to be the master
Of the Chevalier," said John Sturdy, "I
did not think should quit her for ten
years at least I'm a sailor, and love the
sea, with all its perils; but now, If Thank.
full asks me to quit 1t for her, lin ready"
Indeed, then, I do ask your
"But only at the end of this voyage,
My word has been given to the owners,
and cannot break it. The time will be
short; let us live in hope of it."
"Ah, this one last voyage" sighed Mrs.
Benson, ruefully. "Pray God it NAV fare
better than that Of my poor dear Sim
con-"
The Chevalier sailed in March. The
parting was hard one; quite as hard to
the man as to the maid. 1t need not be
told why 1t was hard for her to give her
young loves dream to the cruel chances of
the sea; of him it must be said that, as
love came late, it came strong as well
Don't go, Jack" she pleaded amid her
sobs. 81 know it's selfish, but l can't
helpft. Don't leave me. 1 shall never
see you again If you do"
Her distress, her unbounded love ap-
pealed to him powerfully. His resolution
was severely shaken. Nothing but the
sailors ingrained honor and habitual self
discipline held him back as he said:
"For heavens sake, Thankful, don't
tempt me away from duty. I leave you
ohiy oecause iliust, DuU tne Time Will be
short All our arrangements are for a
short voyage; expect me back by the next
new year. l shall hasten everything for
your sake.''
She went to a sleepless bed that night,
In the morning her fathers glass showed
her the Chevalier far out ut sea. For many
days she went about heavy hearted. Her
mother watched and pitied her, and her
own heart blpl Dfrasb
But youth is the season Of hope and love
is its turn; and as the months Of that
spring and summer went by the girl felt
more and more as though she were only
enduring brief probation to lifelong hap
piness. News had reached her of the Chey-
alier and her beloved. First came let
ter from Rio full of love and promise;
then an incoming whaler reported speak.
ing the Chevalier in the far South Allan,
tic, and that all on board were well, and
then letter from Lima. All was well,
time was flying, the promised time for tho
reunion was approaching.
There is rarely, yet sometimes, New
England autumn when the mellow Indian
summer is prolonged from November for